"Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. "It seems like six long months to me. Being in a great hurry, he took little heed where he set his feet; and a board giving way, he must have fallen, if he had not grasped a large plank laid upon the transverse beam immediately over his head. Give me the keys and the light. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. Play fair with her. " "Unconsciously, perhaps," replied Thames. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it.
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